You who fill the hearts and eyes of whoresWith love of trifles and the cult of sores,

Satan have pity on my long despair!

The exile's staff, inventor's lamp, caresserOf hanged men, and of plotters the confessor,

Satan have pity on my long despair!

Step-father of all those who, robbed of pardon,God drove in anger out of Eden's garden

Satan have pity on my long despair!

Prayer

Praise to you, Satan! in the heights you lit,And also in the deeps where now you sit,Vanquished, in Hell, and dream in hushed defianceO that my soul, beneath the Tree of ScienceMight rest near you, while shadowing your brows,It spreads a second Temple with its boughs.